


Ink and Graphite Lines

by AyaFlower



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyaFlower/pseuds/AyaFlower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He etched his name across your heart in ink and graphite lines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink and Graphite Lines

**Author's Note:**

> For Ladybug223, who requested some Connie/Insurrectionist. I actually had a lot of fun with this, and am grateful for the suggestion.
> 
> This turned out way more depressing than I intended, so...you have been warned.

 

_He is good and real and righteous, but you no longer are._

 

* * *

 

See, it goes like this; no euphemisms, no bullshit.

Your life…well, it could’ve been better.

You hadn’t planned on joining the army. In fact, in your younger years, you held such a malcontent for violence you could not bear the mere suggestion.

It was such a transgression, such a _sin,_ when it happened, that you could hardly believe it yourself.

You should’ve been an artist. You wanted to, in the early days. You were seldom seen without a pencil between your fingers or tucked behind your ear. It was your passion, and you drowned in it, graphite lines etched across your notebook and your mind.

When you were 16, you started tumbling.

You picked up a charcoal stylus and began drawing in shades of ebony. You cut your hair short, wore a crop top to school, and kissed a girl. You spent more hours in the principle’s office than in class. You broke a kid’s nose. You pierced your eyebrow. You picked up a cigarette and dared to put it between your lips. You graduated secondary, but dropped out of college.

You wanted to find sanctuary, but you should’ve known better than to look here.

 

* * *

 

_You fell in misery and in love._

 

* * *

 

 

 

You are instantly aware that you don’t belong. Your lungs ache in the absence of curling smoke, your skin stings where it touches the cold metal plating. You breathe catastrophe and _you know it._

Your name isn’t even up there. You look, and it’s like you’ve erased from existence entirely.

A blade makes it’s home in your hands, and you’re no longer surprised nor opposed. It fits better than a gun, conforms to your palms like hot steel.

Beneath your skin, old sheets of paper crumple and burn.

 

* * *

 

_Graphite left marks in your heart, fire seared them against your bones._

 

* * *

 

You meet him and he shows you what you failed to see before. He teaches you where to look and suddenly everything is clear; you feel sick with the guilt of what you missed.

Even amidst such an emotional upheaval, he captures your heart.

Of course you help him. You have no other choice now, do you?

 

* * *

 

_There comes a time once the storm has passed that a city starts to rise from the ruins._

_You’re still waiting._

 

* * *

 

It’s not easy, getting away, but you make it. You make it and he sees your face just in time for you to fall apart. He locks his string arms around your shoulders and you bury your head in his chest and no one moves for an eon.

When you do, when you finally _can,_ it’s only to press your lips against his cheek and whisper your gratitude. He echoes your words, and you are unsure whether he does so in response or in question.

Later, armour strewn about the bedroom floor and moonlit reflection staring back at you, you decide it doesn’t matter.

 

* * *

 

His voice pulls you from the deep reaches of sleep, his hand against your shoulder eases you into awareness. His touch is grounding, his words are comforting, he is _everything_ and _nothing_ all at once and you didn’t know how much you needed that until now.

 

* * *

 

He’s different, when it’s just you and him, much more genuine with you than with his shipmates. Outside of your rooms, he is a leader, tall and strong and devoted to his cause. But as soon as the doors shut, his shoulders slump and the passion fades from his eyes.

He places his infatuations in both things at once, and for it you commend his bravery.

His love for the rebellion is a raging inferno, and he feeds it until it consumes everything in it’s path. He is the eye of a massive hurricane, and the wind that rushes around him is unstoppable.

His love for you is a soft breeze, a gentle graze of fingertips on skin. He touches you as if you made of glass about to break, warm and yielding and quiet. He made a mark on you, there’s no doubting that, but instead of branding you with flame he etched his name across your heart in ink and graphite lines.

 

* * *

 

He keeps you sequestered when peril finds him, holding you under lock and key unless your assistance is absolutely necessary. And even then he only allows to cover the back lines. That, of course, did nothing to stop you from sneaking out to join the action.

You were never much for regulations, anyways.

 

* * *

 

_You killed time and more people than you could count._

 

* * *

 

With each day that passes, each morning that your own features stare back at you from the mirror instead of a visor, the scars thin and fade. Old war wounds crumble to dust and fall away, and a fresh person starts to emerge.

If only you had been a little more careful.

 

* * *

 

_That’s one thing you’ve noticed about the deceased; they always seem to catch on a little too late._

 

* * *

 

They come for you, as deep down you were certain they would, at a shoddy site between bases on a sunny afternoon. The wind shaves paths along your armoured form, cutting invisible fissures along the bones below.

You’re just inside the doors when the calamity starts.

He pulls you by the wrist and lead you to the innermost room, fortifying the entrance with all he has before beginning to work the computers before him. His motions are frantic, panicked, and you have seldom seen him look so afraid.

“We need to get to the escape vehicle.” You nearly beg him, and when he faces you can tell by the way he avoids your eyes that he, too, knows you can’t win this.

“I’m not leaving them.” He tells you, in that firm, sharp tone he uses on subordinates.

You admire his courage, you always have, but perhaps it’s time for you to be the brave one now. “You don’t understand.” You begin, and his shoulders go rigid. “It’s me they want. They don’t care about the rest of you. I know too much.” Your heart breaks, just a little bit, as the words pass your lips. “If I leave, they will follow me.”

The lights flicker, fade, and click off.

You stumble, and he catches your hand in dark abyss for a half second before the secondary lights come on. He curses under his breath.

“We need to go.” You tell him, in the best no-nonsense voice you can.

He turns away from you. “I already told you, I can’t leave them.”

Your voice jumps an octave, heightened by a growing hysteria. “Most of them are already dead! Besides, if we leave, they have no reason to be here.” Your hand curls around his forearm, and your skin almost seems to heat and burn beneath your gloves. “Please, let’s just leave while we still can.”

He leans away from you. “Connie, c’mon.” His tone is harsh and irritated, and the name almost feels like a strike at your chest.

“You promised me.” It’s a cheap shot, but you’re desperate. “You said we would be together.” You inhale quickly and carry on. “I have all the information we need. I have my _armour_ , we can take this to the right people and they’ll-”

“They’ll what, Connie?” He cuts you off. It stings; he’s never done that before.

You’re starting to unravel now. “I don’t know, make a deal with us? They’ll keep us out of prison. They’ll help us.” You hope to God you’re right. “C’mon, we don’t have much time.” You pivot to face the doorway.

“Actually, you don’t have any time.” A flash of marine steel moves to meet you.

“Carolina.” The name jumps from your lungs along the air that is involuntarily expelled from your lungs at the sight. “And,” You catch a shadow skulking in the recesses of the chamber. “You.”

“C.T.” Texas tells you, stepping to plant both feet towards you. “You have something that belongs to Project Freelancer. And you know how the Director hates to share.”

“You two are fools.” You spit the words, volatile. You didn’t know you had held this much anger. “The Director is playing you; don’t you see it?”

“We know you’ve been feeding intel to the resistance for months.” _Resistance,_ she says, _resistance._ You almost laugh out loud.

He does for you. “Is that who they told you we are?”

 _Yes,_ you think. What comes out instead is; “They’re not the enemy, Carolina. We’re the ones working outside the rules, not them.” You decide to take the plunge. “You don’t know what the Director’s done! He’s broken major laws, and when this war ends, we’re _all_ gonna have to pay for his crimes.” You inhale softly. “Maybe some of us are already paying for them.”

He sends you a sideways glance and suddenly you wish you had not revealed so much of yourself in that sentence.

“You need to stop talking, C.T.” Texas says, raising her firearm to point at your chest.

“No.” You reply, still riding the adrenaline high of speaking for you faiths. “I know what you are, Tex.” A low blow, but not your first of the day. “And I won’t take orders from a shadow.”

You hear _‘What did you just call me?’_ in the background, but Carolina’s words supersede it. “You’re coming with us, C.T. This is your last chance.”

“No.” There’s no other answer left for you now. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Actually,” Texas interjects, having recovered from the previous jab. “We don’t need you. We just need your armour.” She shifts her gun and fires.

You fall with the impact, hearing his shout from beside you as if it were underwater. You flicker, your hand hits the floor, and you dart forwards, catching her off guard enough to thrust a blade through her back. You throw her body weight towards where he still stands, and he catches your momentum almost immediately.

You don’t see what he does after that; you’ve got other things to worry about.

Carolina is much swifter target. She’s all precision and short jabs where Texas is fire and brimstone. She sees your motions almost before you do, and she gets as many hits on you as you do on her. The blades in your hand feel much more real than what’s happening around you; your mind flits in and out of the Mother of Invention almost as much as your body flickers out of sight.

You are unsure whether you are fighting Carolina, or yourself.

In the end, it’s Texas who picks up the slack while you’re distracted, landing hatchets along both your stomach and shoulder. Your back slams against the wall with a dull _thud,_ and you crumple.

Above you, the two agents gain rapid hostility, and he takes the chance to sling an arm under your shoulders and haul you across the threshold to an empty room.

The door falls shut behind you, and the shouting grows even louder for a moment before it drops off entirely.

As soon as you reach the bare chamber, your body caves beneath you and you collapse against the floor. He eases you down so you’re leaning with you back pressed to the wall, lifting your helmet from your head and tilting you chin to see your face.

He murmurs your name, more times than you can keep track of, and as you feel your essence seeping onto the ground you press a flash drive into his hand. “Take it.” You whisper, wishing you had more strength to speak.

“Just rest, Connie.” He breathes, repeating the phrase as an anchor that ties you both together as you start to slip away. Blood runs from the gaping holes left by Project Freelancer, and when at last you close your eyes he voice drops off in a choked, anguished sound.

“No.” He says quietly, when your limbs fall limp in his arms. He presses his lips to your cheek and holds them there, entire figure shaking with silent sobs. “No.” He continues in a loop, and his voice and his touch are the last things that register in your mind before it drops off.

And at long last, you, too, flicker out.


End file.
